Noble Intentions
by Lady Black Mage
Summary: [Summary contained in first chapter. Fate/Grand Order shipfic. Canonxcanon: Jeanne d'Arc and Dr. Jekyll. Currently working on the cover art, will update with it later. Contains: some violence and swearing, rarepair.]


**Summary:** A small comfort offered by the afterlife of a Heroic Spirit is the chance to redeem oneself for past sins. And yet Dr. Henry Jekyll believes he is incapable of ever removing the stain upon his soul, for he is forever bound to his other side. He certainly has no faith in himself or the possibility that anyone could ever see what good remains in his spirit with Hyde's shadow looming over him. But he didn't count on one thing- a chance encounter with a woman whose life burned brighter than almost any other, one who died a martyr and seeks to see the good in everyone.

* * *

 **A/N: This multi-chapter fic is set in Fate/Grand Order, due to the amount of wiggle room allowed with characters the game provides, and yes, it's going to be a shipping fic. It'll be an exercise in exploring building a romantic connection between two very unlikely characters, restoring a sense of self-worth and hope, and especially a challenge in juggling unique character voices. I'm not sure how many other characters will make an appearance at this point, or even how long this story is going to be. You know how the drill goes, I don't own any elements of the Fate/ franchise. That's all Type-Moon.**

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

Heaven is not for the likes of a man such as me. No amount of repentance can make right my many sins, especially because I know that somewhere deep, deep down… I enjoy it. There is a hideous evil lurking in my scarred soul that revels in bloodshed and violence, an evil that always lusts for more. This is why heaven would never accept me, and this is why that night I was certain an angel had been sent to deliver my divine punishment from God Almighty.

I had been uneasy at the thought of entering the church but with my current Master off on errands to attend to, there was little else I could do to fill my time. Little else that is, that didn't involve a relapse. I supposed I was drawn to the church by some deep-rooted longing to be forgiven, to be cleansed. The sanctuary was deathly silent and dimly lit, the rows of pews stretching oppressively onward. Each step felt like a long trek toward the gallows as I approached the altar before the large, ornate stone cross. I stopped between the two foremost pews, not daring to take the steps to approach the altar proper. Instead I lifted my gaze, tracing the meticulously carved designs in the cross as I clutched my hands above my heart.

I was a man of science, I always had been. Then one day it was too late for me, and following my violent death I was trapped in the gray, broken world of Purgatory. Being damned to spend my afterlife as a Heroic Spirit dragged into bloody wars forced me to accept the supernatural and all things beyond my control and comprehension. Gazing upon an image of the cross of Christ the Nazarene now left me unsettled. What must the Son of God think of a man who had been so arrogant and foolish to assume he could have rid humanity of its evil with his experiments, that he could do the work of the divine?

"What are you doing in here?"

The voice caught me by surprise; I'd been certain I was alone! I turned, twisting around to look for whoever had spoken. There, barely more than a silhouette in the shadows, someone stood near the sanctuary entrance. The faint light winked off something metallic and I avoided squinting as best I could, but as I overcame my initial alarm, it registered that I was in the presence of another Servant. My spine went rigid with tension. This person was a Servant? Not even a full day had passed since my summoning; was I to engage in battle already?

"I'm— I'm sorry," the words tumbled clumsily from my mouth. "I was just— I… A-actually I'm not sure _why_ I-I'm here. If I had to hazard a guess, I believe something in my heart compelled me to come here. I-I don't know what…"

Perhaps my apparent unease would throw them off guard. My own presence as a Servant should have been concealed as part of manifesting as the Assassin, but it wouldn't hurt to dissuade the notion I was also a Heroic Spirit.

"Perhaps," the person said slowly as they approached me, light glinting off their armor as their words rolled with a lilting French accent, "it was the Holy Spirit weighing upon you, guiding you here."

My breath caught as she stepped into view, her soft features illuminated with a glow I could only deem divine. Violet eyes met my own, their gaze benevolent and unflinching. She was much shorter than I, and yet I felt like she stood tallest in the room by far. An aura of calm rolled off of her in waves and I couldn't help but to marvel at it.

"I-I am not sure what to say to that, Miss—?"

"Jeanne," she supplied readily. My mouth went dry, dusty as a barren field in drought, and I had to work at it a moment to moisten it again. There was only one Heroic Spirit she could possibly be, and I was dumbfounded to even consider that I was speaking with her!

"Jeanne?" I echoed in a whisper, hardly daring to believe the presence in which I stood. "Jeanne d'Arc? The Maid of Orléans?"

She nodded confirmation and almost at once I felt the other in me stir awake with curiosity. Damn… not now! Servant or not, I had no interested in engaging with this saint among the wellspring of sinners. Jeanne d'Arc was cut from a different cloth than all the other Servants, it took no great imagination to realize that simple fact. Edward would have to satiate his bloodlust elsewhere. Fighting her would be utter suicide.

"Who are you?" she asked with a frown tugging at her lips. "Your clothing isn't from this era, and you don't appear to be quite so alarmed at my identity."

"Far from it, brave maiden," I replied quickly. "You leave me petrified. That is not even to mention or speak of the fact a vile monster such as myself is unfit to gaze upon you in all your holy purity and radiance."

"Vile monster?" she murmured, scrutinizing me. Her hand strayed near the hilt of the blade that rested at her hip. "You are a Servant, aren't you?"

I nodded, wetting my lips anxiously. "Y-yes."

"But I sense no presence about you, not one that would indicate a Servant," she observed, and almost at once her eyes narrowed as she reached the only conclusion available. "You are an Assassin."

Hesitating for but a heartbeat I nodded again. There was little point in lying, especially to her of all people. They said that she always knew when someone spoke falsehood around her.

"Small wonder you speak of feeling unfit and show such trepidation," she chuckled, sounding amazed. "An Assassin in a church due to compulsion rather than a need to eliminate a mark. That feels incredible to consider."

My own chuckle wavered slightly. "There is a certain sort of irony to be had, isn't there?" I admitted, even more self-conscious than before. My palms were growing clammy beneath my gloves and muscles twitched in my legs. Not now, not this. Please, why? "Someone steeped in as much sin as myself, seeking guidance in a church when I have no right to?"

She remained silent, taking measure of me. Tiny pinpricks of electricity danced along my skin and I could feel my pulse throb in my throat. I couldn't stop myself from studying her face; in spite of myself I found her beautiful in a pristine, sanctified way.

If I had been reduced to a filthy monster in my afterlife, then Jeanne d'Arc had been elevated to the ranks of the angels. This then, was fitting. Let this Servant, this pure and guileless woman, dispatch me as I deserved.

 _ **Henry,**_ his voice hissed. _**What have I told you about getting these self-destructive thoughts in your head?**_

Ah yes. Edward naturally wouldn't be pleased.

 ** _It's_** **unhealthy** ** _for us, Henry._**

"Not as much as anyone else," she finally responded, looking toward the crucifix. "If anything it should prove just how much of your humanity you retain."

The statement took me by surprise. I had hardly considered matters from that sort of perspective. Was I really so entrenched in my piteous self-loathing I failed to look for positives in anything I did any more? Certainly she'd just given me something to think about.

 _ **What does this self-righteous little prude know?**_ Edward snarled abruptly, startling me.

That was a costly mistake.

In my brief jolt of alarm, I felt his presence grow stronger as my control slipped. My left hand rose to retrieve the dagger hidden at my hip and I concentrated with all my might on tensing my muscles, fighting to stop the motion. The action didn't go unnoticed by Jeanne, and she looked at me sharply, her expression guarded.

 _ **Stop fighting me,**_ my other snapped, irritated that I was trying to prevent him from attacking her. **_We have a chance to pull ahead in this game._**

"Something is wrong," Jeanne intoned, a question hidden under the statement. I looked at my left hand as it started to curl around the dagger's hilt, almost missing the fact my opposite hand was fighting its way toward the small flask of my formula tucked away in my vest.

 _No… no, not now!_ I protested, feeling my resistance starting to weaken in spite of my efforts. I looked to her and felt my entire body go cold; Servant or not, her live was in very real, grave danger.

"Run," I gasped, my fingers closing over the vial. "Please! Run _now_!"

I saw alarm and perhaps a flicker of recognition in those violet eyes, and then the flask touched my lips. I choked, still trying to fight my other side as the formula burned my throat.

But

I

Was

Too

 _Weak.  
_

Weak…

 _Weak!_

 **WEAK!**

You always _were_ weak, Henry. But that's forgivable. It's why you have me. I have the power to do everything you've always been too terrified to achieve. If you hold _me_ back, you hold yourself back.

Air. _Air!_ I breathe deep, soaking in as much as I can. It feels liberating to _breathe_ again.

"Assassin?"

I open my eyes, muscles tensing as my vision takes a moment to adjust. Pale, supple cheeks framed by golden-blonde hair are the first thing I notice. I shift my hold on the dagger and _lunge_. The dagger slashes out, catching the faint light. She's moving even before then.

 _Damn! She's faster than I thought!_

The armor should have weighed her down. Should have slowed her response time. But a thin blade strikes my dagger with a sharp scream of metal against metal. She carries into the motion, sword never slowing as she fluidly arcs her rapier forward and forces me back. I struggle, straining as I try to hold our weapons in the locked point.

 _She's_ stronger _than I thought too!_

The thought instantly has me hot and bothered. I'm not used to women being strong enough to match me.

Idiot! That costs me my hold. I waver. She senses it and shoves forward, forcing my dagger and my hand back. She breaks my grip and sends my weapon flying, smashing her crossguard into my fingers. The dagger lands somewhere behind me and my breath expels itself in the only word appropriate for the situation.

"Shit!"

Her right arm swings back down, pommel of the rapier heading right for my unguarded midriff. I jump backward, stumbling as I try to keep my balance.

Too late, I realize I'm stupid. She bends at the waist while I'm stumbling and swings out one armored boot, catching behind my heels and sweeping my feet out from under me. I pitch backward and slam into the floor, the force of the impact driving my breath from my lungs. Pain erupts in my skull and my vision explodes with stars. I have no time to recover before a cold, iron rod is pinned against my throat and I choke on my breath.

 _She has a second weapon?!_

"Who are you?" she demands, her voice ringing with an authority she hadn't used on Henry. I stare up at her, trying to swallow beneath whatever she's got me pinned with. Doesn't work so well; my breathing is really shallow and I'm sucking air in through my mouth in sharp, short gasps.

"A charming bastard," I shoot back irritably, giving her my best sarcastic grin.

She's not impressed. "You have a rather high opinion of yourself."

I grip the rod or whatever she's holding— a lance, maybe? —and fight to try to get it off of me. Right away I'm struggling. She's got the upper hand and she's not budging.

"S-someone's got to, right?" I retort. "G-God knows the good doctor indulges in more than enough self-loathing." I push up, giving it everything I've got. There's give this time and I'm suddenly pushing her back. A rush of excited adrenaline hits me—

And her gauntlet crashes into the top of my head about the exact same time. Stars explode behind my eyes again.

 _Well done, Edward,_ Henry snipes bitingly as everything goes black. _Your brilliance is astounding._


End file.
